


Nothing to Win and Nothing Left to Lose

by Hummingbird1759



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: Christmas, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Heavy Angst, Post-Finale, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hummingbird1759/pseuds/Hummingbird1759
Summary: Twenty years later, Henry Jennings gets an extremely unlikely visitor. Rated T because nothing in this show is rated G.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	1. I Know That We Don't Talk

Whistler, British Columbia, Canada. December 2007.

On a frigid winter evening, a thirtysomething man in black slacks, black dress shoes, and a dark gray trenchcoat steps out of a bar and strides along talking into his cell phone. In any other city, he’d blend right in; but in the ski resort town of Whistler, which has Christmas decorations to rival Santa himself, he’s a blot, a reminder of what all the ski bunnies and snowboarder bros are here to escape. He pays no attention to them as he walks along discussing mutual funds and the Dow.

“All right, that sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow at noon Eastern.” Stopping in front of a quaint townhome that would not look out of place in _The Sound of Music_ , he hangs up the phone and then fishes the keys to his timeshare out of his pocket.

A voice from behind him calls out, "Henry. Henry Jennings."

Henry freezes and his breath hitches. Twenty years since he'd heard that voice. Nearly as long since Jennings had been his last name. He thought he'd forgotten it all by now, buried Henry Jennings and his "travel agent" parents and that house in Falls Church.

_This is not happening,_ he tries to tell himself. _It's early-onset Alzheimer’s or a nightmare or some bad whiskey. ___

____

____

Slowly he turns on his heel, and the sight of the man who steps out of the shadows and into the glow of the Christmas lights nearly causes him to faint. A bent old man with a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder, gray hair and papery skin, eyes unutterably weary… and unmistakably those of the man he knew as Philip Jennings.

“Hello, son,” Philip says hesitantly. “I’d like to explain some things, if you’ll let me.”

Henry’s been dreaming of this moment for twenty years, fantasizing about both revenge and forgiveness, and now that the moment is finally here, he hasn’t a clue how to react. Should he hug Philip? Hit him? Both? 

It’s still early – barely 5 PM – but the sun is long gone and snow wafts down onto both of them. Henry gulps and takes a long look at Philip: the way he hunches forward, the deep lines on his face, his watering eyes, the way he’s kept his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. 

Henry makes a sound that’s half a sigh and half a growl and puts his key into the lock. “Get inside,” he grumbles, “It’s cold out here.”

They shuffle in clumsily, nearly tripping over skis and poles, and place their wet shoes next to Henry’s still-dripping ski boots. Henry takes Philip’s coat and the elderly man sits down on a dark blue loveseat next to the gas fireplace, placing his duffel bag on the floor next to him. The timeshare has been updated within the last few years; everything is new and high quality but not ostentatious. Henry turns on the fireplace and blinks again at the sight of Philip in his living room. Still trying to make sense of it all, he sighs, “I need a drink. Do you want one?”

“Sure. Um… what do you have?” Philip says awkwardly. 

Henry only drinks whiskey and occasionally wine, but then he reminds himself that his visitor has no way to know that; the last time they saw each other, Henry was too young to drink.

“Just whiskey. Hope you like the peaty stuff,” he says, as he pours two sturdy glasses of Laphroaig.

Henry sets one glass in front of Philip and takes a healthy swig out of his own. “How the hell did you find me here?” 

Philip explains, “I knew that for the last four years, you’ve flown to Vancouver in the third week in December, and I knew you learned to ski at St. Edward’s. I figured you continued skiing because you enjoyed it and it’s a good networking opportunity. Plus, Whistler will host the alpine skiing events at the 2010 Olympics, and you’d want to be able to tell people you’d skied here before the Olympics. Going the same week every year generally means a timeshare, so, I contacted a few timeshare companies in the area pretending to be a direct mail marketer who wanted their customers’ data.”

“Why now? Why wait all this time? And why the hell didn’t _she_ come?” Henry demands.

Philip sucks in a deep breath and says, “Henry... your mother is dead. She died of lung cancer last month.”

_Goddammit._ To say that Henry and Elizabeth weren’t close is the understatement of both the centuries in which they’ve lived. Even before he knew who and what she was, they barely had a relationship, and since that day in 1987 when his world turned upside down he’s tried not to think of her at all. But until just now, a small part of him had held out hope that things might improve, that they could have at least a fraction of whatever normal mothers and sons have. 

Henry buries his face in his hands. “Figures. She never did have much to say to me,” he says as his voice cracks.

“I’m so sorry, son. She had planned to come too but she was so much sicker than we realized,” Philip lays a gentle hand on Henry’s shoulder. “She asked me to give you this letter,” he says, placing a sealed envelope on the coffee table in front of Henry.

“Thank you,” Henry says perfunctorily. He makes no move to pick up the envelope.

Both men are silent for what seems like an eternity, and then Henry spits, “God, I should’ve turned you in when I had the chance!”

Philip recoils, then gapes at his son. “You _knew?_ ”

Henry gives Philip a withering look. “Of course I knew! For fuck’s sake, I’m not stupid!”

Philip stammers, “For how long?”

Henry half-shrugs. “I’m not sure how old I was when I first realized the two of you weren’t just travel agents. At first, I thought you were drug dealers, but after we read about Al Capone in history class I wondered if maybe you were in the Mafia. By the time I was 13 I had to know, so I went through the basement one night while you and Mom were out with a ‘client’ and Paige was doing something for that church. That’s when I found the tape in Russian.” Henry takes another swig of his whiskey and continues, “Even if I hadn’t snooped, the walls in that house were a lot thinner than you thought they were.”

Philip shakes his head, both proud of his son’s cleverness and embarrassed at having been found out by a child. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Henry sighs. “When I visited the FBI, Stan told me how the Rosenbergs were executed for espionage. As much as I hated you two right then - as much as I still hate you - I couldn’t handle the thought of you getting the chair.” He looks Philip in the eye and says, “If I could do it over, I’d have gone straight to Stan.”

Philip finds the courage to return Henry’s gaze and says, “He would have sent us to prison, Henry.”

Henry shoots him a glare that’s pure poison. “Yeah, where you belong.” He takes another nip of his whiskey and lets out a ragged breath as if to leak the defiance out of his voice. “And where I could at least have visited you.”

Philip says nothing but has the decency to look ashamed.

The pair remains silent for a moment, then Henry speaks again. “You still haven’t answered my question: why did you wait _twenty fucking years_ to find me?”

“Your mother and I... we did terrible things. We knew that if we ever came back to the US, or even a country where we could be extradited to the US, we’d never see the light of day again.”

Henry winces, remembering the gory crime scene photos the FBI had shown him in the weeks following Philip and Elizabeth’s departure. In a cold tone he says, “Yeah, they told me. And I’m aware that there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

Now it’s Philip’s turn to wince, but he cannot argue with what Henry just said. 

Henry shouts, “But you couldn’t have written? Or called? Or found me on LinkedIn, for fuck’s sake?!?”

Philip stares at the floor. “For a long time, we thought you wouldn’t want to hear from us. We lied to you for your entire life about who we were, who you were, we worked for your country’s mortal enemy, we abandoned you...” Philip swallows hard as he continues, “Your sister chose to leave us. We thought that you’d have made the same choice.”

“I guess we’ll never know because you didn’t give me that choice,” Henry barks. 

“The US Government didn’t give you that choice,” Philip counters. “By the time we were back in Russia and able to contact our colleagues in the US, we knew that you were cleared. Any sort of contact from us would have put you back under suspicion… possibly have even gotten you deported.”

Henry has to admit there’s a degree of truth to what Philip just said. “For years, I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without the FBI breathing down my neck. When my friends asked about it, I said that you two were wanted for doing a Ponzi scheme and the FBI was keeping an eye on me in case you came back. But,” his voice takes on a sharp edge as he adds, “the FBI backed off after 1991. _Sixteen years ago._ ”

Philip looks at the floor again. “The longer we waited, the more certain we were that you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with us. After your mother was diagnosed, we decided we only had one more chance to see you and Paige, and if we wound up behind bars, then so be it.”

“I suppose now you’ll tell me that you saw Paige last week and both of you conveniently forgot to tell me you were coming,” Henry snorts. 

“No,” Philip says firmly. “I haven’t seen or talked to Paige since we left America. My plan was to see you first; I needed to apologize to you, and I wouldn’t have been able to do that if Paige turned me in. You know her better than I do, but I think there’s a good chance she would.”

“Nice to see I came first for a fucking change,” he mutters. _As if Paige could’ve kept a secret from me anyway._ “As for whether she’ll turn you in, I don’t know. We haven’t talked about you since the FBI stopped questioning us.”

All Philip’s years of KGB training can’t help him disguise the hurt he feels.

Henry has no sympathy. “Why would we want to reminisce about any of the shitty things you did? Or the fact that you could’ve just _walked across the fucking street_ , said you wanted to defect and just be a normal family, but you thought your cause was more important than us?” 

An uncomfortable silence descends for a few minutes, and then Philip finds his voice. “I know you don’t believe me, but your mother and I love you. We always have and when we could, we tried to help you. Do you remember applying for that job at Cantor Fitzgerald in the summer of 2001?”

Henry raises an eyebrow. “You knew about that?”

“Yes. One of our colleagues stayed in New York City and we asked him to keep tabs on you. We found out that Al-Qaida was planning an attack on the US, and the World Trade Center was a likely target. Your mother and I didn’t trust the government to prevent it... so we prevented you from being in harm’s way.” 

“I was furious when they rejected me. After 9/11, I was grateful. Kind of a shitty thing to feel good about, or at least that’s what my ex-wife said.” Henry sighs and takes a drink.

“It’s not shitty to be glad you survived.”

Henry takes another drink and then rolls his eyes in a way that’s achingly familiar to Philip. “One of the reasons I’m so fucked up today is that my childhood view of morality came from a couple of deep-cover KGB spies, so forgive me if I’m skeptical about that.”

“Son,” Philip begins.

Henry cuts him off. “Don’t call me that!”

“Henry,” Philip corrects himself, “I’m so sorry. Your mother was too. She went to her grave regretting what we did to you.”

_Good,_ Henry thinks, but stops short of saying it.

Philip pulls a small photo album out of his bag. “I want to give you this, and you should show it to Paige too. The first few photos are of me and my family when I was a boy. I grew up in the city of Tobolsk, in Siberia.”

Philip points to a black-and-white photo of a family with two young boys, one of whom bears a striking resemblance to Paige’s son. “That’s me and my brother Piotr with our parents. My father died about a month after this was taken.”

Henry blinks in disbelief. “You actually told the truth?”

Philip nods. “The Centre gave us cover stories that were similar to our real lives – it would be easier to tell a lie if it was half true. My father died when I was six, like I always told you. But I told you that he was killed in a car accident; in reality, he died in an accident at the logging camp where he worked.”

Henry turns to a page with photos of a city in ruins. Blackened skeletons of buildings haunt the gray skies. “Where is this – Dresden?”

“No, it’s Smolensk, the city where your mother grew up. It was on the Eastern Front during World War II and saw heavy combat against the Nazis. Your mother told me that the way the people of Smolensk banded together and resisted the Nazis is what inspired her to join the KGB and fight for communism.”

_And look what she raised – an investment banker who helps the rich get richer and a hardcore pacifist who doesn’t even eat meat,_ Henry thinks. He almost says this aloud, but he isn’t sure how much Philip knows about Paige and her family, and it certainly isn’t his place to tell him anything. Instead, he pivots.

“Where are the photos of her?” He’s tried hard not to see either of his parents in Paige’s children, but now he can’t help but wonder if Paige’s daughter resembles her grandmother.

“I don’t have any photos of your mother when she was young,” Philip explains. “She grew up extremely poor. Her father was killed in the Battle of Stalingrad and her mother was often sick. Sometimes she had to eat rats to survive.”

“No wonder she got so upset about wasting food,” Henry murmurs.

“I didn’t have it much better as a kid. Wasting food used to infuriate me too, but at the time I thought that was something an American father wouldn’t get upset about. So I didn’t,” Philip says resignedly.

He turns the page and points to a color photo of another family – a man in his forties with dark hair, a blond woman with a flinty gaze, and their two teenage sons. “This is your half-brother, Mischa, and his family. Before I knew your mother, I had another girlfriend. I didn’t know it at the time, but I got her pregnant before I joined the KGB. I have his contact information if you-”

Jealousy surges inside Henry and he cuts Philip off again. “No! I don’t want to hear about your replacement family, and I definitely don’t want to meet them!”

Philip protests, “They’re not my replacement family!”

“Bullshit! You give me that stupid fucking phone call pretending everything’s fine-“

“That was to give you deniability,” Philip interjects.

Henry ignores him. “And then you sneak off to Russia, don’t talk to me for twenty fucking years, make me wonder whether or not you’re even _alive_ , then come back and show me a picture of the replacement Russian son who you’ve been hanging out with all this time and expect me to be okay with that? What the fuck?”

The elderly man bows his head. “I’m sorry, son.”

Henry shouts, “I told you not to call me that! And sorry doesn’t cut it! You ruined my life! And Paige’s! And Stan’s!”

Philip flinches at the mention of his former best friend. “H-how is Stan?”

Henry snarls, “He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year. Don’t even think about seeing him. He can’t handle it.” _Not that Matthew would let you in even if you did show up._

Philip gulps. “And Renee?”

Henry drains his whiskey, then gently places his glass on the coffee table. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she and Stan divorced in 1990.”

“He must have suspected her of being one of us,” Philip murmurs.

Henry shrugs. “If she was and she knew he’d figured it out, she probably would have killed him.”

“Yeah,” Philip mutters, guilt all over his face. 

Henry wonders, _Did he tell Stan that because he wanted to screw him over, or did he really think Renee was a spy?_ He decides it doesn’t matter. There’s no fixing Philip and Stan’s friendship now, and Philip has done so many horrible things that destroying his best friend’s marriage barely even registers.

Henry sighs and remembers what Philip said earlier about the job at Cantor Fitzgerald. Fearing the wrath of his boss, he hadn’t told anyone he’d applied for the job – including his then-wife. _If Melissa didn’t know, that means none of our friends or family knew, which means those two couldn’t have found out about it from anyone except another spy._

Henry manages to look Philip in the eye again. “About the Cantor Fitz thing… thank you. I have a friend who was in the North Tower on 9/11… he says he wouldn’t wish that on anybody. I’m… I’m glad I didn’t have to go through that.”

“You’re welcome. We fucked up a lot, but at least we can say we got one thing right,” Philip says with a small smile.

After another uncomfortable silence, Henry asks, “So… how long are you in town?”

Philip’s heart breaks all over again as he says, “Henry, I’m so sorry. I need to get going. I’m supposed to go to Abbotsford tonight, meet a friend who’ll get me back across the border. And then I’m headed to San Francisco to see Paige. I should be there tomorrow night.”

_Goddamnit._ “And after that? Back to Russia to hide from me again?”

“If I don’t get caught, I’ll go back to Russia. But,” Philip looks Henry in the eye and says with a sincerity that Henry’s never heard before, “I will let you know what happens to me. I won’t leave you in the dark again.”

Henry bites back the disappointment and pretends he believes what the elderly man has just said. “Okay,” he says softly.

The two men stand and look at each other awkwardly for a moment. Neither one knows the etiquette for saying goodbye to a family member you haven’t seen in twenty years and might never see again. Philip gives Henry an awkward hug, and Henry finds himself returning it.

Philip puts on his coat and shoes and as he turns to leave, he says, “Henry, I meant what I said on that phone call all those years ago. I love you and I’m proud of you. I always have been, and I always will be.”

“Thank you,” Henry whispers, and then Philip walks out of his life for the second time.

After the door closes, Henry picks up Philip’s untouched whiskey and takes a swig. _Figures he didn’t care for it – this stuff is about as far from vodka as it gets._ He flips through the photo album, finds the photo of Mischa and family, balls it up and throws it in the trash. _The fuck was he thinking? I’d rather have a photo of my ex-wife and her new husband, and she probably cheated on me with him._ He picks up the letter from Elizabeth and stares at it a moment. _Not tonight._ He zips the letter into a hidden pocket of his suitcase, then finds his phone and calls the third number on his recent calls list.

Paige answers, “Hi Henry, what’s up?”

Henry takes another drink, sucks in a deep breath and says, “I went line dancing.”

Paige gasps. “You _saw_ him? What about her?”

“She’s gone,” Henry says, fighting to keep his emotions under control. “Last month. Lung cancer.”

“Of course she’d rather die than come back here,” Paige croaks. Henry’s certain that she has tears in her eyes. He won’t admit that he does too.

He clears his throat and in an urgent tone says, “There’s something else, Paige. He found me here in Whistler and he’s coming to see you.”

“Can you pass on a message to him from me?”

“Sorry, he already left.”

Having regained her composure, Paige’s next words come out confidently. “Damn. I was going to tell him not to come.” After a pause, she asks, “Will he be flying or…”

“He wouldn’t tell me, only that he’d be there late tomorrow. He seemed worried that you might turn him in.”

“No,” she says, and Henry’s shoulders release a tension he didn’t realize they were holding. Paige continues, “I know they did… a lot of things I don’t even want to think about, but that’s between them and God. I just don’t want to see him, and I don’t want my kids to be around him.”

“Um… what exactly have you told the kids about our side of the family?” In the decade since his sister became a parent, they’ve had an unspoken agreement not to discuss the past in front of her children. He should probably clarify this before he sees Paige and her family at Christmas.

Paige sighs. “Not much. I’ve made it clear to my kids that I never, _ever_ lie to them, but there are some subjects I just don’t like to discuss. So far all I’ve said is that my mom and dad did some very bad things and had to go away as punishment. They’re too little to understand what happened, but when they’re older, I’ll tell the whole story – at least, as much as I know of it.”

“When you do, let me know,” Henry says, smiling wanly and fingering the photo album. “I can fill in some of the blanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History alert! Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were an American couple convicted of spying for the Soviet Union; they passed along top-secret information on nuclear weapons, among other things. Both were executed by electric chair.
> 
> Cantor Fitzgerald is a company that was headquartered in the North Tower of the World Trade Center before 9/11. Because their offices were above the impact zone, 658 of the 960 employees were killed in the attack. In August of 2001, President Bush received a memo that Al-Qaida was likely planning an attack on the US, so it’s plausible that Philip and Elizabeth’s KGB associates would have had this information too.
> 
> The title of the fic is, of course, from the U2 song “With or Without You.” The titles of this and the following chapter are from the U2 song “Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own.”


	2. It’s You When I Don’t Pick Up the Phone

Paige navigates the next day on autopilot. When she returns to a strangely quiet house after work that night, having sent her husband and children to a movie, her mind goes back to the last time she saw Philip.

_The train came to a halt at Rouses Point. Elizabeth was a dozen or so rows behind her, Philip roughly another ten rows farther back. Both would be preoccupied with getting past Border Patrol; they spent twenty years anticipating this moment and they weren’t going to screw it up now. She knew they wouldn’t see her until it was too late for them to do anything._

_A big, raucous family piled off the train. Paige slipped in behind them unnoticed, and once off the train, she stepped to one side and pretended to study the train schedule intently. After what seemed like an eternity, she saw the Border Patrol agents depart the train. She half-expected to see Philip, Elizabeth, or both dragged off in handcuffs, and to this day, she isn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that they avoided detection. As soon as the train started moving, she turned around and looked intently at the train windows. She saw her mother’s anguished face gaping at her through the window, then her father noticed her and immediately got up. She briefly wondered if he was going to try to get off the train and go after her, but of course he couldn’t._

A knock at the door interrupts Paige’s reverie. _Showtime._

Paige gets up, squares her shoulders and walks over to the door. She looks through the peephole and sees Philip; he looks like a much older version of the disguise he used on the train that day. Paige stares for what seems like an eternity, wondering if this is another nightmare. She bites her tongue, then winces at the pain. Nope. No such luck.

“Paige, I know you’re in there,” Philip shouts. “If you want to call the FBI on me, that’s fine. I just,“ desperation leaches into his voice as he chokes, “I had to see you one more time.”

_Fuck._ Paige opens the door and glares at Philip. “Get in. If you keep making a scene, the neighbors will get involved.” _And the last thing I need is for that busybody Susan to find out who you really are._

Paige lets him in to her house, a small but well-maintained bungalow in a quiet older neighborhood. Philip takes a moment to look around. The house has a lived-in feel – all of the furniture is at least ten years old, the children’s sports equipment and craft projects are scattered everywhere, and there are numerous family photos on the walls. He pauses in front of a photo of Paige with her husband and children and it sends a pang through him.

“It looks like you’ve done well,” Philip says awkwardly as he sits down on the plaid couch.

Paige sits in the adjacent recliner and says, “Jimmy and I were lucky – we managed to buy this place before the real estate market went nuts, and after his grandparents died, we were able to pay off the mortgage. But from what Henry’s told me, you probably already knew that.”

“No. Your mother and I knew you’d graduated from VCU and moved to San Francisco to be a social worker. After that, you did a remarkably good job of staying under the radar,” Philip says, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, because I didn’t want to be having _this_ conversation,” Paige shoots back. “I thought you guys were done lying to me when you told me you were Russian spies. Then Mom claimed that you didn’t use sex to get information, and I found out that was bullshit too. When Stan found us in the garage and he said that people had been killed by illegals, I knew I couldn’t trust you two to give me a straight answer about whether or not you’d killed anyone. I definitely couldn’t depend on you in a country where I didn’t speak the language! During the interrogations, I found out about all the people you’d killed, and I knew I made the right decision.”

Philip looks her in the eye and says, “I’m sorry, Paige.”

She returns his gaze and replies matter-of-factly, “Good. You should be.”

Philip hangs his head. This is going about as well as he expected. “So… what did you do after you got off the train?”

Paige sighs. “I went back to the safe house briefly, took a few shots of vodka to calm my nerves. After I cleaned my prints off of everything there, I went to Stan. I told him I’d keep quiet about him letting us go – except to Henry – if he helped me stay out of trouble.”

“And the social work thing? It’s quite a leap from what you were studying at GWU.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “You know I only majored in political science because Mom said it would help ‘The Cause’ if I could work in the State Department. I hated it and I wasn’t very good at it anyway. After you left, I took a semester off to try to figure out what to do, and I realized that I was happiest when I was volunteering at the food bank – social work was similar to doing that but for pay.”

“Do you work with homeless people now?”

Paige shakes her head. “HIV patients. When I first moved out here, it was a death sentence, and the way they were treated reminded me of the lepers in the Bible – a lot of people were afraid to even touch them. I started out helping people get their affairs in order, making sure the medical staff knew who was allowed to be with them at the end. But now treatments are a lot better and instead I help people get coverage for their meds and fight discrimination at work.”

“I’m proud of you. Your mother would be too,” Philip says with a smile.

Paige looks at him askance. “Why would I want a couple of murderers to be proud of me?”

“Paige, I-“

She interrupts him, and her sarcastic tone makes Philip feel like he’s back in Falls Church. “Yeah, I know, you had a job to do. Your job ruined everything for me! I tail my husband home once a month to make sure he’s not cheating on me, and even though he’s basically Mike Brady and would never do that, I can’t stop myself. I showed Henry how to do it and that’s why he’s divorced now. I can’t eat meat anymore because it reminds me too much of that general who supposedly ‘killed himself.’ And I’m terrified that my kids will hate me when they find out who their grandparents really were.”

“Maybe if you give me a chance to explain,” Philip offers.

“They’re eight and ten,” Paige scoffs. “They won’t understand.”

“Can I at least meet your children?” 

“No,” Paige declares. “You did enough damage to me and Henry. When my kids were born, I promised myself that I’d never make them suffer the way I did.”

“Your mother and I promised ourselves the same thing,” Philip replies firmly.

“Unlike you, I keep my promises,” Paige counters.

Philip explodes in rage and shouts, “That promise, we kept! You never had to eat rats or beg in the street for your food. You never had to worry about going hungry because other kids at school stole your family’s food. You never had to share a house with three other families. You never had to nurse one of us through diphtheria. You didn’t have to bury a parent before you turned ten, which your mother and I both did! You had all the clothes you wanted, all the toys you wanted, a TV, a computer – we even supported you when you went to _church!_ Maybe you and Henry should spend a little more time thinking about that and a little less time feeling sorry for yourselves!” 

With that, Philip storms out.

Paige sinks into the recliner and dissolves into tears. 

_Falls Church, Virginia. Three Days Later._

On an all-too-familiar suburban street, Philip sits in his parked car. He hesitates for a moment and fiddles with his wedding ring. Technically he isn’t married anymore, but with his wife only dead a month, he hates to call himself single.

_I’m sorry, Nadya._ She’d never forgive him for what he’s about to do, but he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t do it.

It’s late, but the lights in the house are on, and he thinks he can see the retired FBI agent through the gauzy curtains of the window. He’s exhausted from a long journey on buses and trains, but it’s now or never. Philip takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and gets out of the car, then strides determinedly up the walk and knocks on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the fandom wiki, Paige studied at George Washington University, a real university in Washington, D.C. I don’t think the show ever mentioned what her major was, but political science seems like something Elizabeth would have talked her into. I’ve always thought that social work would be a good fit for Paige, especially since she can’t work for the State Department anymore. Paige would probably want to get away from D.C. after the events of the finale, plus, the real GWU doesn’t have a social work program. VCU is short for Virginia Commonwealth University, which is in Richmond, Virginia and since Paige went to high school in Virginia, she could probably get in-state tuition there.
> 
> Mike Brady is, of course, the dad from The Brady Bunch, and just about the most wholesome TV dad ever.


	3. Pokayaniye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I know this was a looong wait - thanks for your patience!

After a seemingly interminable wait, a tall black man answers the door. Aside from a few gray hairs, he looks remarkably the same as he did at Thanksgiving dinner in 1987.

“Hello Dennis,” Philip says awkwardly.

“Philip Jennings?” Aderholt blinks in disbelief, then remembers his training and whips out his gun. “Get down on the ground!”

“Okay! Okay!” Philip stammers as he complies. Face planted on the concrete, he says, “This is what I came here for.”

Aderholt handcuffs him and yells for Janine to call the FBI and the police.

“What do you mean, ‘this is what I came here for?’” Aderholt barks, gun still trained on Philip. “And don’t try anything funny; the FBI will be here any minute.”

Philip’s voice is that of an utterly broken man. “That’s fine. I can’t do it anymore. I came to turn myself in.”

“Uh huh. And where’s Elizabeth?” Aderholt scoffs, looking around for possible ex-KGB spies in the bushes.

Still prone on the concrete, Philip lifts his eyes to Aderholt and says, “She’s dead, Dennis. She died of lung cancer last month.”

“How can I believe you?”

Philip says the only thing that comes to mind. “If she were here, she’d have killed you by now.”

Given all the details that emerged during their search of the Jennings’ home, this statement rings true to Dennis. “But why now?”

“The Soviet Union is over, she’s gone, and my children hate me. I’m an old man, but I can still atone.”

Dennis shakes his head. “You haven’t got enough time left for that.”

* * *

“Thanks for stopping by, Section Chief Gomez,” Aderholt says as he ushers the younger man in. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” Gomez replies. “And just Steve is fine.”

The two men sat down at Aderholt’s kitchen table with steaming mugs in front of them. “Dennis, I want to thank you for your fine work the other night. Your quick thinking helped us apprehend Jennings with no harm to anyone. I understand you’ve been telling the neighbors that he was someone you’d arrested back in the day and had a score to settle?”

Dennis nods. “That’s correct.”

Gomez smiles. “Good. Close enough to the truth. And what about Janine – did she recognize him?”

“Nope.” _If she did, she’s too sensible to say so._

“Now, you didn’t actually hear me say any of this, but since you and… Freeman?”

“Beeman,” Aderholt corrects him, a note of annoyance in his voice. _The man has suffered enough indignities. You can at least get his name right, you little shit._

“Beeman, sorry. Anyway, since you and Beeman knew Jennings before he came under suspicion, I thought you should know the outcome.”

“I appreciate that,” Aderholt says with sincerity.

Gomez takes a deep breath and says, “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that we can’t get any of the espionage charges to stick. The current Russian administration disavows any knowledge of the illegals program, and most of the records were ‘lost’” – Gomez makes air quotes at this word - “after the USSR fell, and the US attorney says he’s got more important things to do than prosecuting a seventy-seven-year-old man for spying for a country that no longer exists.”

Aderholt eyes him skeptically. “So what’s the good news?”

Gomez’s face brightens slightly at this. “The good news is that Jennings consented to a DNA test. We entered the results into CODIS and got a hit: the murder of Jason Trammell, a doctoral student in Virginia. Back in 1982, he and some other students were working in the computer lab when the fire alarm was pulled. Everyone evacuated, but Trammell got outside, realized he left his wallet at his desk and went back for it. That was the last time anyone saw him alive. They found his body in a dumpster two days later. The case had been cold until this week, when Jennings’ DNA was matched to samples taken from under Trammell’s fingernails.”

“And how did Jennings react to that?”

“He confessed to the whole thing – even seemed a little relieved. He said he never planned to kill anyone that night; Trammell just saw something he shouldn’t have seen, and Jennings couldn’t risk having his cover blown. There’s a hearing tomorrow, but he’s going to plead guilty – gets him a life sentence instead of the needle.”

“Thank you for telling me, Gomez. It’s nice to hear that justice is being done, even if it’s long overdue.”

* * *

Prison life wasn’t as difficult an adjustment as Philip expected. _Roving bands of bullies, beating people up to prove myself… just like my childhood but with better food._ He was isolated, of course; during the few hours each day that he was out of his cell, the younger inmates ignored him and the older ones were suspicious of him at best. Henry wrote now and then but his letters were stilted and awkward. He hadn’t heard from Paige since he left her house that night several months ago. Occasionally he wondered if she’d told her children about him, if he’d ever get to meet them, but he always shut that train of thought down immediately. _If she wanted that to happen, it would have happened by now._

One late spring afternoon, Philip lies on his bed thinking about everything and nothing when a guard barks, “Jennings! Mail!” and tosses an envelope at him.

Philip springs from the bed to pick up the letter – a complete shock, but a welcome one. It’s only been a week since he last wrote to Henry; not enough time for Henry to receive his letter and write a response. He stoops, snatches the mail off the floor and the familiar handwriting on the address makes his heart pound against his ribs. Hands trembling, he rips the envelope open and begins to read.

_Dear Mr. Philip,_

_Hello. I know it has been a very long time. I was sorry to hear that you were in prison. I volunteer there teaching GED classes to inmates, and thought I had seen you in the exercise yard. One of the guards confirmed it to me. I do not know how you came to be incarcerated, but know that I never said a word to anyone about you or your wife._

_I was angry at you when you fired me all those years ago, but I came to see it as a blessing in disguise. With my partner’s help, I went back to school and became a high school math teacher. I retired a year ago and now volunteer at the prison and the alternative high school._

_I know that prison can be lonely, and I understand well how painful loneliness is. If you would like to write back, I would be glad to hear from you._

_Your friend,_

_Stavos_

Philip finds himself smiling for the first time in months. He has a lot to say to Stavos – mostly apologies – but it looks like he’ll have plenty of time to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter, pokayaniye, is the Russian word for repentance, and also how the Russian Orthodox church describes the sacrament of confession.
> 
> The murder that Philip goes to prison for occurs in the Season 2 episode ARPANET, although the victim isn’t named. CODIS is the Combined DNA Index System and has been used to solve thousands of cold cases since its inception in 1998.


End file.
